


Eye Contact

by MaddyHughes



Category: Hannibal (TV), Midnight Special (2016)
Genre: Basically I Really Fancy Hugh Dancy and Adam Driver, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, One Shot, Oral Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Rubber Duck Boxer Shorts, What Happens in Quantico...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6873619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddyHughes/pseuds/MaddyHughes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is a federal agent. Paul Sevier is a federal agent. This is not all they have in common.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye Contact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Happy birthday RC](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Happy+birthday+RC).



They passed each other in the corridor at Quantico most days. Coffee in hand, glasses on, eyes down. Will passed everyone that way if he could; he didn’t like eye contact. He saw a lot of shoes: scuffed, polished, worn. Noticed the size of people’s feet. He got to recognize them.

When the files and books fell on his own feet, they came from the size thirteens in the black lace-up boots.

‘Ow!’ Will jumped back as a file landed corner-down, skewering his big toe.

‘Sorry,’ said the person. ‘My fault, I’m carrying too much.’ He knelt down to collect the files and Will saw the top of his head: thick black hair, in a bad haircut that barely contained its unruliness. One ear poked out where he’d pushed hair behind it. Will also crouched and gathered the papers that had fallen out of one file. They were marked with the NSA logo; he saw a list of coordinates and the name ‘The Ranch’. If it was NSA, he might have just seen enough to get him in trouble. He quickly shoved them into the file.

When he handed them over he averted his eyes so as not to look at the other man’s face. He saw blue Dockers, a mustard-coloured shirt, white t-shirt underneath, a glimpse of glasses, pale skin.

‘Thanks,’ said the other man. ‘Really, my fault. Did you—’

‘It’s nothing.’ Will ducked his head, stood, kept walking.

***

They applauded him for killing Garrett Jacob Hobbs. A whole room of FBI trainees, applauding him for that bloodbath. Will felt himself flushing. He clenched his hands. It was totally inappropriate. He was still muttering about it to himself when he came out of the lecture theatre, which was why he didn’t notice the man standing outside waiting for him until it was too late to avoid him.

‘Agent Graham,’ said the man, and Will recognized his voice, and when he looked down, he recognized the size thirteen boots.

‘I’m busy,’ he said, and tried to walk past.

‘I need a word.’

‘Another time. I—’

The man quickly positioned himself in front of Will, and Will stopped. Not because the man was in his way—he had no problem with barging past assholes—but because he saw what the man was wearing.

Grey Dockers. Black belt, silver colour buckle. Blue denim shirt, top button open. White undershirt beneath. All of it unironed. Grey tweed blazer. Black boots. Glasses. Uncombed hair. Beard scruff from a few days of not shaving.

‘We’re wearing exactly the same clothes,’ Will said.

The other man shrugged. ‘I’m not interested in clothes.’

‘Neither am I.’

‘Why were they applauding for you in there?’

Will grimaced. ‘Because I shot a man in his own kitchen.’

‘Oh,’ said the man. ‘You’re _that_ Agent Graham.’ He had a deep voice, sort of throaty, a bit like a grown-up Kermit the Frog. ‘I’m Paul Sevier. NSA.’

‘I’ve got to go,’ said Will, irritated. He glanced at the man’s face to try to work out what he wanted and when their eyes met, the other man glanced away. Just like Will usually did.

‘Want a beer?’ said Sevier, and for some reason, Will nodded.

***

Everyone at the Academy usually drank at the Tap Room, a few blocks away. Sevier walked them straight past that and down another two streets to a hole in the wall called Billy’s. He bought them two bottles of Rolling Rock and they went to a table in the back, in the opposite corner to the men’s room.

Will drank nearly half his beer in one, straight from the bottle, not bothering with the glass. Under cover of drinking, he took in Sevier’s face while Sevier was looking at the television on the wall at the news report.

He looked young. Like his hands and feet and voice had grown faster than the rest of him. He had strong features: long nose, wide mouth, dark eyebrows, but his face was slightly soft. He was probably older than he looked, if he worked for the NSA.

Will finished his beer. Alcohol was just what he needed, to be honest, after being applauded by a group of trainees for failing to save a woman’s life and a teenager’s innocence. Without asking if Sevier wanted another, he went up to the bar and ordered two more.

‘So,’ he said, sitting down across from Sevier again, ‘why did you want to talk to me?’

‘It’s a little embarrassing.’

‘You think I saw something classified when I helped you pick up your files.’

‘What did you see?’

‘Numbers. They meant nothing to me. I don’t remember what they were.’ Will shrugged, and drank. ‘Even if they did, you wouldn’t have to worry about me leaking anything anyway. Nobody believes anything I say unless it’s about homicide.’

‘This…is not about homicide.’

‘Well then.’

‘It’s about a serious national security risk the likes of which we’ve never seen before. If you were to share the numbers you saw, then I might have to start talking about homicide.’

‘Are you _threatening me_?’ said Will incredulously.

‘I’m not very good at it, am I?’ said Sevier.

‘You really aren’t.’

Sevier sighed. ‘I’ve never really liked the part of my job that means I have to deal with people. I’m better with puzzles.’

‘Me too.’

They drank for a few minutes in silence. On the television, the newsreader talked about the search for a missing boy in Texas.

‘What socks are you wearing?’ Will asked suddenly.

‘Socks?’

‘Socks. I’m wearing navy socks. They’re cotton. What about you?’

Sevier thought. ‘Navy.’

‘Got them at Penneys? In a multipack?’

‘Yeah. They were on sale.’

‘We probably just missed each other.’

‘I hate shopping.’

‘Me too.’

‘Another beer?’

‘Yeah.’

***

The table was covered with empty green bottles.

‘Underwear?’ said Sevier. His glasses had developed a distinct slant.

‘Boxers.’

‘Me too. But there’s only a 50% chance that I’d be wearing something different. What have you got on your boxers?’

‘Ducks.’

Sevier gazed at him. Eye contact had become notably easier to sustain after the fourth beer. Of course, they were both still wearing glasses, so that helped. The lenses deflected.

‘Ducks?’ Sevier asked.

‘Cartoon yellow rubber ones,’ Will said.

‘You are shitting me.’

‘I am not.’

Sevier squinted. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Like I said. People only believe me when I talk about murder.’

Sevier pushed up his glasses, crookedly, and glanced around the bar. There were a couple of guys watching the game now playing on the TV, and a woman staring moodily into her wine glass.

Before Will could really register what was happening, Sevier had disappeared under the table.

‘What are you doing?’ he stammered. But the answer became immediately clear when he felt Sevier bumping against his knees and his hands fumbling with Will’s belt.

‘I’ve got to see this for myself,’ said Sevier, beneath the table. He pulled open Will’s belt, unzipped his flies, and pulled his trousers open.

There was a long pause.

‘Son of a bitch,’ said Sevier.

‘Told you.’

‘I wasn’t talking about your duck underwear.’

And he reached inside Will’s boxers and grasped his cock.

Will jumped and gasped. ‘What are—’

‘Shh,’ said Sevier. ‘Just make sure no one’s watching.’

And Will felt the unmistakable sensation of a hot, wet tongue licking around the head of his dick.

‘Oh my God,’ muttered Will. His hands clenched on the table. But he didn’t try to stop Sevier, and he felt himself growing hard.

_I am in a seedy bar being given a drunken blow job by an NSA agent whose dress sense is exactly the same as mine._

Strangely, the thought was more arousing than alarming.

Sevier’s lips closed around his dick and Will’s eyes fluttered shut with pleasure. Then he realized that the worst thing to do when you were having your cock sucked under the table in a public place was to look as if you were having your cock sucked. With clumsy hands, he took out his phone and pretended to be having a text conversation.

Meanwhile, Sevier was sliding his soft wide mouth up and down Will’s cock, licking and sucking. He wrapped his hand around Will and pumped as he sucked. His technique may not have been the smoothest—a couple times he bumped his head on the bottom of the table—but it was very, very effective.

Sweat sprang out on Will’s forehead, dampening his hair; he had to work very hard not to brace himself on the table and start thrusting into Sevier’s mouth. He could barely hold his phone and had to put it down on the table so he wouldn’t drop it.

Then Sevier…hummed.

Deep in his throat, rumbling around Will’s cock, accompanied by a little flick of the tongue and Will yelped and came in Sevier’s mouth. The movement bumped Sevier’s head up on the table again and a couple of beer bottles toppled over.

A waitress paused on her way by. ‘Are you all right, sir?’

‘Fine,’ panted Will. Sweating. Feeling Sevier swallowing and licking up the last bit of his come. ‘Just knocked over a bottle.’

He waited until the waitress had wandered off again before he whispered, ‘Get back up here before we’re found out.’

Sevier backed away and emerged from under the table. Will quickly did up his flies and belt. He couldn’t help noticing how Sevier’s lips were redder, and how he licked them, as if he’d just tasted something nice.

Sevier’s glasses were steamed up. He took them off. ‘You liked it?’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘Why do you think?’

Will found a bottle that still had some beer in it and took a gulp, soothing his parched throat. ‘I think that I must’ve seen some really confidential information if you’re willing to blow me in a bar to keep me quiet.’

Sevier frowned. ‘That wasn’t why.’

‘Why, then?’

‘Because I felt like it, and we both enjoyed it.’ He found a second bottle, and drank from it. Will watched him as he wiped his lips. ‘Also, to compromise you so you won’t talk about the information you saw.’

‘You’re more compromised than I am. I assume it’s not written into your job description that you’ve got to give oral sex to whoever breaks the secret code.’

‘Not in so many words, no. Anyway, you’re right. I’m more compromised than you are. The only solution is for you to return the favour.’

‘Return…?’

‘Then we’ll be equally compromised. I’ll have the dirt on you, so you won’t leak my information. You’ll have the dirt on me, so I won’t tell anyone I blew you in Billy’s and you liked it.’

Will looked at him for a long moment.

‘That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.’

Sevier shrugged. ‘Okay. You can just do it because you want to.’

‘Why did you want to?’

‘Because you’re cute.’

Sevier looked away when he said it, down at his hands on the table, and that was what decided Will. He glanced around the bar, making sure no one was watching, and then took off his glasses and put them in his pocket. He slipped under the table, onto his hands and knees.

The floor was sticky and everything smelled of stale beer. It was pretty dark, too, and being suddenly in a confined space made Will realise quite how drunk he was. Still, he groped his way across to Sevier’s side of the table and knelt between his legs.

‘This is not the way I thought my day was going to go,’ he muttered, reaching for Sevier’s belt, but then again, now that he thought about it: giving and receiving blow jobs in a bar was much more appealing than being applauded by a bunch of cadets for blowing several holes in a mass murderer.

Sevier had a pretty impressive hard-on already straining the crotch of his Dockers. Will unbuckled Sevier’s belt and unzipped his flies. With trembling hands, he opened his trousers.

Sevier was wearing boxers printed with yellow cartoon rubber ducks.

Will started laughing, silently. From the way Sevier was shaking, he knew he was laughing too.

Suddenly he knew why he was here in this bar, with this guy, on his knees under the table. Will Graham hardly liked anyone. He’d had a lifetime of fractured romances and uncomfortable semi-friendships.

But he liked Paul Sevier.

He was smiling as he released Sevier from his cartoon duck boxers. Sevier had a big dick, out of proportion from the rest of his body like his hands and feet and ears, and Will was a little bit glad that he hadn’t seen Sevier’s first or else he would have been a little self-conscious of his own size. He took an experimental lick and he felt Sevier shudder.

Then he opened his mouth wide and took Sevier’s cock in as deep as he could, and he felt Sevier _really_ shudder, and grip Will’s hair under the table with both of his hands, and that felt good. He liked Sevier, and he liked giving him pleasure. Because Sevier, with his beer and his boxers and his mouth, had made him feel better than he had in quite a long time.

There wasn’t a whole lot of room under the table, especially considering the size of Sevier, but he wrapped his hand around the base of Sevier’s cock and sucked on the head and tried not to bump hard enough on the table to knock over the bottles again. Sevier was guiding him with his hands anyway, pushing him to take him deeper, right to the back of his throat. He tasted good, like clean skin and salt. Will sucked hard and let Sevier do what he wanted and in that moment, he made an empathic leap and he knew that this was the only time for a long time that Sevier had done what he wanted, the only time he hadn’t been restricted by rules and stress and expectations.

Sevier’s hands tightened in Will’s hair and he made a low guttural noise. His dick jerked in Will’s throat and he pushed Will’s head down hard as he came. Will swallowed every drop.

When he climbed back into his seat, Sevier was grinning like a loon.

‘Aliens,’ Sevier said. ‘I think I’m chasing aliens. Does that sound crazy?’

‘Yeah,’ said Will. ‘There was a FBI guy who used to chase aliens. Spooky Mulder. He was a bit of a legend. Crazy too.’

‘Maybe I should find him.’

‘I’m glad you found me.’

Sevier looked up in surprise. Their eyes met, for the first time, without either of them wearing glasses. No barriers between them. Sevier’s eyes were dark. Warm, and deep.

‘I’m glad I did too,’ Sevier said.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this entire fic was written because I went to see 'Midnight Special' with my friend RC on our shared birthday, and she said, 'Wow, Sevier wears the same outfit as Will Graham.' It all went from there.


End file.
